


Left Behind

by krazyk2314



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Salt And Burn, ghost hunt - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 21:47:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4721657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krazyk2314/pseuds/krazyk2314
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You live in an old house where a murder took place. Sam and Dean come to take care of a ghost problem, but the ghost problem turns out to be different than they expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Left Behind

You walk along the hallway, your bare feet cold and silent on the wood floor as you make your way to your bedroom. It had been another restless night, when you were lucky to get maybe an hour of sleep.

Your (eye color) eyes looked dull above dark circles, and your skin was pale in the moon light. Your (hair length) hair was loose and free falling down your back, and you brushed a piece away from your face.

It had been the same way for the past two weeks, ever since your family had been murdered in this house. You would wake up from a short slumber, finish your morning routine, then wander aimlessly around the house, gazing at the pictures hanging on the wall, before making your way to your sons room.

It was always hard, seeing the picture that was taken only a month ago. In it your family was happy and alive, your husband with his arms around you, while your son sat on a swing next to you. You couldn't believe they were both gone, your loving husband, and your four year old son. It broke your heart to look at the pictures, but each day, you made your way down the hallway, reminding yourself of what you had.

Making your trek to your sons room, you pause when you hear the doorbell ring. Wondering who it could be this early, you head down the stairs to the door. Ever since that horrible night, you hadn't had a single visitor since most of your friends and family lived far away.

You step off the last stair, glancing to the door, seeing two tall, well dressed men standing in the doorway. One had long, almost shoulder length brown hair and a kind face, while the other had short dark blonde spiky hair and a guarded expression. 

The shorter one is the first to speak. "I'm sorry Ma'am, we knocked, and the door opened on us. My names Dean, he's Sam, and we have some questions for you."

You stare at Dean, mesmerized by his vibrant green eyes. They were so beautiful, but sad, and you knew he had seen too much sadness in his life. You were sure your eyes were the same way.

"Okay, why don't you sit down." You told them, showing them the couch. They sat, and you sank down in the arm chair across from them, wondering what they wanted.

"We just had some questions about something that happened here a while back. We understand there had been a murder in this house. Has anything happened after that you thought was weird or unusual? " Sam asked you, his long, lanky body taking up most of the couch, leaving Dean with not much room.

You gather your thoughts a moment before answering. "I haven't noticed anything that i would consider weird or unusual." You answer truthfully. 

Dean gazed at you, his eyes almost staring into your soul. "Please dont think we are crazy, but we've been asked to research your house, your neighbors have shown concerns that this place is haunted."

You laugh, "Ghosts? Really? I've been living here by myself, and I haven't seen any ghosts."

"Do you mind if we look around, see for ourselves?" Sam asked politely, and you said they could. They both stand up, Sam going to check out the top floor, while Dean took the main floor.

"Do you want to show me around?" He asked, and you nodded. There was something about him that drew you closer to him, it could have been his beautiful eyes, or his pretty face, but you knew it was something deeper than that. Instinctively you could tell he had a good heart, and that's what drew you to him, like a moth to a flame.

You walk close to him, taking a deep breath of the leather and gunpowder scent that wafted off of him, as he heads towards the kitchen. He stops, taking in the kitchen, the clean, clutterless, counter tops, and the almost empty cabinets.

Raising his eyebrow at the low supplies, you defend yourself. "It haven't been very hungry lately."

He walks over to your fridge, seeing the drawings your son had made for you hanging on the fridge. 

"These are cute." He says, and you give him a small smile.

"Thanks, my son drew those for me."

"You have a son? How old is he?" Dean asked you, turning those green eyes on you, making you speechless for a moment. 

"He's um.. he was four." You finally spit out.

"Was?" Understanding dawned in his eyes. "Oh, I'm so sorry for your loss, I can't imagine the pain you've gone through."

"Yes I lost him, and my husband, two weeks ago." You tell him, feeling a little bit of relief at actually telling someone what had happened. It had been hard bottling all the grief inside your with no outlet.

Dean came over to you, staring down into your eyes. "Y/N, I wish there were words I could say, or something I could do, to help you with the pain. I would say it gets better with time, but that's bullshit, it will always hurt."

You start to reply, but Sam returns and interrupts, "Dean, ready to go?"

Nodding, Dean faces you one more time. There was compassion in his eyes, and it did take some of the pain away, for a moment, as you wondered at the handsome, rough man who had a soft heart underneath the plaid.

Dean places a card on the counter. "This has our number, If you need anything don't be afraid to call."

They leave, and you sit back down, wondering what had just happened. Did they really believe there was a ghost in your house? And do you already have feelings for Dean? Mad at yourself for crushing on a man two weeks after your husband died, you told yourself to stop being an idiot. A man like that wouldn't be interested in you anyways.

The rest of the day went uneventfully, and you had just settled back in your bed, wishing for a peaceful slumber, when you heard Dean's voice below.

"Y/N? Sorry to barge in, but we really need to talk to you."

You wrap a robe around your body, and hurry down the stairs, seeing the brothers waiting for you, now in jeans and plaid shirts.

You glance between both of them, curious as to why they were already back.

"Y/N, we have something to tell you, and I think it would go better if you sat down."

They guide you over to your couch and you sink down onto the brown leather, wondering what was so bad you needed to sit down. 

Dean sits beside you, his denim clad knee almost touching yours. Sam was in the chair across from you, his fingers tapping on his knee.

"What is it?" You question them.

"I'm going to come right out with it. Y/N, we think you're the ghost."

You stand up, away from Dean and his crazy ideas. "Me a ghost? Why would you even imagine such a thing? It's preposterous!" 

Dean tries to make you understand.  "You were here that night, why would they only kill your husband and your son, but not you? Have you had trouble touching items, lifting them up, or moving them? We talked to the police today,  and do you know what they told us? There were three bodies that night, not two. Also, it happened a year ago, not two weeks."

Running your hands through your hair, you face Dean, with tears in your eyes. "Why would you say such a thing? I'm standing right here, how can I be standing right here, having a conversation with you, if I'm a ghost?"

Dean came over to you, raising his hand to your face, but stopping before he touched it. "Sometimes ghosts have a hard time of letting go, that's why they are left behind. My guess, you were too distraught over your family dying, and you couldn't move on."

"Prove it!" You tell him, anger coursing through your body at this ridiculousness. 

Dean looks at Sam, and Sam nods. Dean goes to place his hand on your face, and you can't feel it. It kind of goes right through you, giving you shivers.

"That was weird, but I still need more proof."

Sam walked over with a container in his hands. "Ghosts cannot pass through salt. Try crossing this line," He directed you as he poured a thin white line.

"Fine, but afterwards you get to clean it up. You try to walk across, feeling silly, but an invisible wall forces you back. You try again and again, each time getting thrown back. You start to realize they might be right, and the truth squeezes your heart like a vise. 

"But...what..." You try to say, stunned by what had just happened. 

Dean's eyes were sad as he faced you. "I'm sorry we had to be the ones to break the news to you. We are here to help you move on, see your family again."

"I still can't believe I'm a ghost, and now you want to talk about moving on? Wow, you guys move fast."

"We are just trying to do what's best for you. If you want, we can wait a day or two, you can get used to the idea before we help you move on."

You couldn't lie to yourself, the thought of them being right and moving on was scary, but the fact that you could soon see your family again outweighed the fear.

"What do we do?" You asked, surprising them both.

"Well we found out today where your body is buried, so we will dig it up, and salt and burn it. It's the only way we know how."

"Will it hurt?" You wonder, and they shrug their shoulders.

"Maybe, we don't know."

"Fine, let's do this."

Sam opened the door, and you followed them outside, forcing yourself to leave the house. It seemed like you were tied to the place. Finally, you pulled yourself free, and slid into the backseat of the Impala, Dean shutting the door for you. You watched as the familiar scenery passed by, knowing this might be the latest time you get to see it.

Too soon, Dean pulls the Impala into the cemetery,  and the three of you climb out, you passing through the door. If felt eerie, and awkward, but you had to try. The sky was dark and cloudy making it hard to see. Before you could ask, Sam pulls a flashlight out of the trunk, along with a shovel, salt and and lighter fluid.

Seeing the items, you realized this was really happening, and that soon you might be gone from this world. You follow the boys quietly, as they made their way to your grave. Dean let Sam go on ahead, while he fell back to talk to you.

"Doing okay?"

You shook your head, but he couldn't really see it. "Not really. I know that I need to move on, but it's hard. I don't know if it will hurt, or what to expect later."

Dean tried to take your hand in his, but his just passed through youes, disappointing you. You hadn't realized how much you missed another person's touch.

"I wish I could help with that, but we arent' sure what happens once we help a spirit cross over. But the least I can do is be with you in the end." Dean assured you.

You had finally made it to your grave, your headstone that was shared with your husband. A smaller stone was placed beside yours, your son's name on it.

Sam had already started digging, and Dean stayed with you as you watched the dirt pile up beside your grave. It didn't take as long as you thought it would, soon you heard Sam's shovel hitting wood.

Dean helped Sam out of the grave, and they started pouring salt and lighter fluid all over what was left of your body. You stayed back, not wanting to see your remains, even though you were curious. 

Sam held the matches, and Dean stood as close as possible to you, trying to give you some comfort in your final moments.

"Are you ready?" He asked you, his face concerned.

Taking a deep breath, you look up at the sky one last time. The clouds had parted and there was a sliver of the moon showing, along with a few stars. Knowing this would be your last time gazing upon such a sight, you let it all sink in, tears silently falling down your face.

"I'm ready." You whisper, and Dean nods to Sam. Sam lights the matches and tosses them into the grave. You look at Dean's face as flames start climbing up your body. Tears were falling down his face as he watched you, and you were dissapointed you didn't have more of a chance to get to know him.

The flames didn't hurt, it was a warm sensation, traveling slowly up your body. You raised your hand towards Dean, "Thank you."

Soon you were gone, a memory that will slowly fade away. But what you didn't know, was as the flames died down, Dean stood there, silently crying, knowing he would never forget you, because you touched his heart just as much as he touched yours. 


End file.
